


Dancing with a Star

by serenescribe, solsticeScriptures



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: And then they kissed, Dancing, Dancing Lessons, F/F, Fluff, Love Confessions, this ship is so sweet i love them so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 19:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20452124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenescribe/pseuds/serenescribe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/solsticeScriptures/pseuds/solsticeScriptures
Summary: "Swallowing nervously, Dorothea dragged her gaze away from theveryinteresting grey bricks that made up the railing of the balcony, shifting over to look at Petra. She bit her lips. “...Yes?”Petra smiled, a genuine, beaming smile that sent Dorothea’s heart fluttering. “I would be loving to show you my dancing.”Petra asks Dorothea to teach her how to dance Fódlan-style. Dorothea gets more than she expected out of it.





	Dancing with a Star

**Author's Note:**

> played the black eagles route, got petra and dorothea's a support, and this 4.7k fic happened bc this ship is just that good
> 
> beta'd by my lovely friend [pix!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixxyofice) thank you so much for helping me with this!

“You put your right foot here—no, not that way.”

Petra frowned, stepping away. “I am apologising greatly, Dorothea. It seems my skills are lacking in dancing.”

Dorothea shook her head quickly, letting go of Petra’s hand. “Oh no, it’s okay Petra! Dancing takes time, after all, and ballroom dancing is not exactly… easy.”

Petra slumped onto her bed, sighing. “It is not.”

The ball was the highlight of the Ethereal Moon for everybody in the monastery, and Dorothea was no exception. Sure, she preferred to sing. After all, that was her strong suit, and her enchanting voice captured everybody’s attention. Whenever she opened her mouth to belt out a tune during choir practice, several students would turn towards her, their expressions filled with awe at just how melodious the songs she sung were.

But dancing was a close second. Dorothea _ loved _to sway to the lilting melody of a song in the air, stepping and twirling across polished marble floors with all the grace and finesse she could muster. Whenever she was alone, she found herself humming a simple tune, feet tip-tip-tapping as she pranced across the floor, her brown hair whirling around her like a veil.

So when Petra had walked in on Dorothea spinning around in the Black Eagles Classroom, humming to herself as she twirled and stepped across the floor, lost to the world around her, she had instantly walked up to Dorothea to ask her for help.

_ “You want me to… teach you how to dance?” _

_ Petra nodded. Though she seemed determined, her eyes betrayed how worried she was. “You see, I am not understanding the style of dance that is common in Fódlan,” Petra explained, furrowing her brows. “Linhardt has been finding me books to instruct on it, but I am still not understanding the style.” _

_ “So you want to learn it from me?” Dorothea had asked, still surprised. After all, it wasn’t every day that Petra approached her for help. Even with Dorothea’s standing offer of help whenever Petra needed it, the Brigid-born girl was usually able to handle things on her own. _

_ Petra nodded assent, causing a smile to stretch across Dorothea’s face. “Well I’d be happy to teach you, Petra!”  
_

_ Petra’s eyes brightened, and the tension in her shoulders dissipated. “You have my gratitude, Dorothea,” she thanked, dipping into a bow.  
_

_ “Oh, it’s no problem. Now, when are you free this week…?” _

That was two days ago. Now, Petra was slouching on Dorothea’s bed, face glum as she stared at the floor.

It wasn’t as if Petra was a poor dancer. She had some energy in her, a natural swiftness that emerged when she flew around on her pegasus in battle, lunging in to strike her foes down. And Dorothea _ had _ caught her trying to help Bernadetta during preparations for the White Heron Cup, shimmying across the floor in a unique dance style that Dorothea had never seen before.

No, the problem was with the formal style of dancing that the people of Fódlan preferred. It was a stiff ballroom dance that required two partners—one leading, and one following—stepping across the dance floor in carefully practiced movements. It wasn’t easy to learn.

Dorothea bit her lip, staring at Petra. “You know, the dance I’ve been teaching you is _ horribly _ outdated,” she found herself saying, causing Petra to glance up at her. “I doubt that many people would fault you for not knowing how it works. It feels like only nobles and trained performers remember how it works.”

“Even if that is so, I still hope to be learning it.” Petra pushed herself off the bed, dusting herself off as she faced Dorothea once more. “Even if it is task I face with difficulty, I hope to be dancing with many people during the ball.”

Petra’s determination was admirable, Dorothea thought to herself. So many other people would have given up trying to learn the complex one-step-two-step waltz that nobles across the lands preferred, sitting out the ball instead. And she couldn’t fault them, really. The stiff rhythm that Fódlan’s ballroom dance followed was an obstacle at best, and a downright hindrance at worst.

So Dorothea took Petra’s hand once more, pulling her close. “Put your feet together before you start,” she reminded, using her other hand to guide Petra into position. “Your arm should be raised—yes, just like that!—and your other arm should be resting on my shoulder.”

“Is it… like this?”

Petra’s grip was ironclad.

“A little gentler please.”

“My apologies.” Petra’s grip loosened, allowing her hand to simply rest on Dorothea’s shoulder.

“Well then,” Dorothea hummed, “let us begin.”

One step forward for her, one step backwards for Petra. Dorothea gently pushed and pulled Petra along with the dance, counting with a “one, two, three” to guide her along.

Each step that Petra took was stiff and calculated, like she was thinking too hard about how to dance as opposed to simply dancing. As Dorothea gently dipped her downwards to one side, Petra’s grasp on her shoulder tightened, only letting up once she was upright once more.

A step back, and a step forward.

Slowly, stiffly, they made their way around Dorothea’s room, rounding and twirling in a three-step rhythm, Dorothea leading, and Petra following. With each round they made, Dorothea could feel Petra loosen, the tension in her muscles loosening up the longer they danced on.

It was almost possible for her to lose herself in their little dance, fantasising about being in the sprawling ballroom located in the heart of the monastery, with her leading, and Petra following. Rounding the room, step by step, with nothing but Petra’s humming and Dorothea’s soft voice counting each beat to keep them company.

And then Petra accidentally stomped on her foot.

Dorothea let out a startled yelp, stumbling away from Petra. Red hot pain throbbed through her foot, forcing her to stagger over to her bed, collapsing onto the soft sheets. Squeezing her eyes shut, Dorothea gritted her teeth, forcing herself to shut up, to stay _ silent, _so she wouldn’t end up cursing under her breath.

The sound of footsteps across the wooden floor forced her to open her eyes, squinting at Petra, who had raced over. Her eyes had flooded with immense guilt, glistening as she stared at Dorothea. “I… I am truly sorry, Dorothea! I was not intending to do that!”

Dorothea shook her head quickly, forcing her lips to twist into what she _ hoped _ was a reassuring smile. “I-It’s okay, Petra! I’m fine!”

“You reacting to my misstep tells me the opposite.” Kneeling down in front of the bed, knees resting against the carpet, Petra hesitated. “May I… help?”

“It’s okay, Petra,” Dorothea repeated, hoping that her voice didn’t betray the pain she was trying to shove down and ignore. She desperately didn’t want Petra to look more miserable than she already did at her inability to perfect a single stupid, old-fashioned dance. “It’ll be fine in a while. My boots are sturdier than you’d think!”

Petra faltered. “Even so… I would like to be helping you, Dorothea.”

Her heart practically _ melted _ . Petra, who struggled with healing spells and faith magic, who only knew the bare basics of a simple heal spell, who carried around vulnaries into battle because her magic was lacking, wanted to help her heal.

Dorothea pushed herself into a sitting position, gently shifting her leg so it slung over the side of her bed. “In that case… I’d be glad to accept your assistance.”

With gentle hands, Petra slowly pulled Dorothea’s boot off her foot, taking care to avoid pressing down too hard on her leg. Holding Dorothea’s sock-covered foot, Petra shut her eyes tightly, fingers brushing over Dorothea’s foot as she mustered up as much faith magic as she could.

Dorothea noticed how the corner of Petra’s eyes would crease as she concentrated, how she bit her lip as she focused, forcibly dragging what little bits of faith magic she knew out of her soul. Petra was not a gifted mage—quite the opposite, actually—so it took a lot of effort out of her to conjure up a simple healing spell.

A pale light filled the room, swirling around Petra’s calloused hands. Dorothea could feel the throbbing pain in her foot fade, washed away by the spell Petra used.

As the light faded and Petra pulled away, hands resting on her thighs, she glanced up at Dorothea. “Was that… sufficient?”

Dorothea wiggled her foot. Any lingering pain caused by Petra’s accidental stomp had faded. “It’s as good as new,” she declared. “Thank you so _ much _, Petra. It’s a good thing that our dear professor decided to train everyone in faith magic, hm?”

Petra nodded, shoulders relaxing. “Yes. I was unsure of it before, but the knowledge of healing is useful. I am happy that the spell has helped you.”

Pulling her boot back on, Dorothea winked at Petra. “Misstep aside, that was the best dancing you’ve done so far! You’ve improved a lot in such a short amount of time, Petra.”

The way that Petra’s cheeks flushed red at her praise was positively _ adorable. _Ducking her head, Dorothea could barely hear her mutter her reply. “I thank you, Dorothea.”

Distantly, Dorothea could hear the faint chiming of the cathedral bells ringing the air. Judging by the way Petra’s head looked up, glancing out the frost-covered window, it seems as though the purple-haired girl heard it as well.

“I have not realised how late the time is,” Petra observed. Pushing herself up from the ground, she bowed deeply, a gesture that Dorothea had come to acknowledge as Petra’s way of expressing her gratitude. “Today was quite fulfilling. I thank you for teaching me to dance with utmost patience, Dorothea.”

“It was my pleasure!” And it _ was _. Petra was a determined student, pushing forward with learning the dance despite making mistakes and taking missteps. It was quite refreshing for Dorothea to teach somebody how to dance without them letting out an irritated groan and giving up, storming away out of frustration and leaving her alone in an empty room.

Her eyes flitted to the calendar pasted on the wall across from her.

“There’s still a week before the ball,” Dorothea said hastily, a little too quickly, watching Petra pause, hand hovering over the door handle. With all the charm she could muster, Dorothea flashed Petra one of her trademark smiles, squeezing every bit of charisma possible into it. “I’d be happy to continue these lessons if you’re up for it.”

Petra froze, stuttering, a red blush filling her cheeks. Turning away from Dorothea’s gaze, Petra choked out a reply. “I-I will be thinking about that, Dorothea.”

“Well I’ll be here if you need me!”

The orchestra had begun to wind down by the time Dorothea stepped outside the ballroom, slipping through the crowds of chattering students loitering about. She shuddered as the cold winds of the Ethereal Moon hit her face, teeth chattering. Even with her fur-lined coat, the air was still _ way _too chilly for her liking.

She had just begun to walk away, heels _ click-clacking _against the stone pathway when she heard footsteps coming from behind her. Pausing, Dorothea turned around, her dark red ballgown swishing around her as she came face-to-face with Petra.

Petra looked, for lack of a better word, absolutely _ beautiful. _Her silky hair was carefully braided into a high ponytail, purple locks tumbling down her back and covering her shoulders. In place of her usual uniform was a colourful, strappy dress draped with beads, and her usual boots were replaced with brown, strappy heels.

“You look gorgeous,” Dorothea murmured, the words tumbling out of her mouth without thinking.

Petra’s cheeks darkened, causing her to turn her head away. She pulled the thin cloth of her shawl—a colourful cloak embroidered with patterns Dorothea had never seen before—tighter around her arms. “I… I thank you, Dorothea. You are also looking very well too.”

She felt the corners of her lips curl up into a grin. Dorothea shook her head, giving Petra a wink. “Well now, this is pretty standard for me. After all, I used to dress extravagantly while I was performing in the opera. Ballgowns and expensive clothes… I’m no stranger to them. But you, Petra?”

Slowly, softly, Dorothea reached out, intertwining her gloved hands with Petra’s. “You look amazing,” she breathed.

Petra ducked her head, her cheeks redder than before, as Dorothea let out a laugh.

“So what brings you out here?” she asked, pulling away from the purple-haired girl, folding her arms across her chest. “Did you get tired of all the dancing? Not that I would blame you, of course. After all, it’s pretty chaotic in there.”

“It was… giving me a tired feeling, yes.” Petra tapped a finger against her chin, expression thoughtful. “I was intending to stay for longer than I had been staying, but the professor was being occupied with many other students’ dancing.”

“Ah yes, the professor,” Dorothea sighed, her breath wafting up in a small cloud. “I was hoping to steal a dance with them, but unfortunately…”

“The professor was being occupied, so I had been deciding to leave. And then I had seen you leaving as well.”

“So you decided to catch up with me, hm?” Dorothea’s voice was light and playful, a soft melody that caused Petra to fidget with her shawl, avoiding Dorothea’s gaze. “Well I’m glad that you did, Petra. I… didn’t see you earlier during the ball.”

“My great apologies. I was being occupied by the dancing.”

“There’s no need to apologise, Petra. Besides, I was quite busy dancing too!”

Petra opened her mouth, before clamping her mouth shut. Shuddering, she pulled her flimsy shawl around her, tugging it as close to her skin as possible.

Dorothea stares, before it clicked.Even in the dim light of the night, she could see the goosebumps across Petra’s skin, and the way her teeth began to chatter. Eyes widening, she pulled off her thick coat, forcibly ignoring the cold chill that settled into her bare arms, sinking into the depths of her bones. She pulled the coat around Petra quickly, draping it across her shoulders so it covered her bare skin.

Petra stared at her, purple eyes wide. Her gaze flicked to stare at the coat before glancing back at Dorothea. “Dorothea… will you not be feeling the cold?”

Oh, she would be. But Dorothea ignored the way her teeth chattered, ignored the way her skin _ screamed _ with agony at the cold around her. Shaking her head, she gave Petra a reassuring (or at least, she _ hoped _it was reassuring, she really didn’t want Petra to feel bad) smile. “I-I’ll be fine! Besides, you’re not used to the cold, right? I remember you mentioning that Brigid’s usually much warmer than Fódlan…”

“You have been remembering right. And still… It is not feeling warm this night.”

_ Yeah, no kidding, _ Dorothea thought bitterly, disregarding the way her skin felt like it was frozen solid and the way her bones felt fragile and heavy, like they were about to crack into thousands of tiny smithereens.

Suddenly, Petra brightened, eyes lighting up eagerly. Before Dorothea could reply with yet another reassuring comment, to tell Petra that _ yes _ , it was alright to take her coat, for she needed it more than Dorothea did, the Brigid-born girl grabbed her hand just a _ little _too tightly, causing Dorothea to let out a yelp.

“Let us be going! I have just recalled a place that we can be resting”

“W-wait, Petra!” Dorothea’s voice grew higher as they ran, increasing in pitch as Petra tugged her along the stone corridors, passing by dozens of curious looking students. “Petra! _ Slow down! _”

Petra pulled them into a dim room, letting go of her hand. Gasping, Dorothea rubbed her wrist, ignoring the way that her hand throbbed from Petra’s death grip, hunching over as she fought to catch her breath.

Too much time spent as a mage, studying reason and faith during lessons and lectures, left Dorothea _ sliiightly _ out of shape, at least compared to Petra, whose stamina and muscles were in _ much _better shape. As she forced her breathing to slow down, inhaling and exhaling periodically until she felt her vigorous heartbeat grow steady, Dorothea stood up shakily, wobbling on her heeled feet.

With a cautious step forward, she gazed around the room Petra had pulled her into. Her lips curled into an ‘o’, eyes widening as she took in the sight in front of her.

The room was lit with dim candlelight from the flickering torches on the walls, illuminating the polished, wooden tables and chairs in the room, and the vases of flowers sitting on them. Dusty bookshelves and weapons racks lined the walls, stocked with worn tomes and sharp blades of all kinds. As she glanced over the wooden racks, Dorothea was certain she could see Petra’s blades hanging there, and… was that one of Felix’s swords as well?

But the best part about the room was the balcony that protruded out of the side of one wall, the entrance covered with silk curtains embossed with lace and golden thread. Dorothea walked forward, gently pulling the curtain to one side as she stepped out onto the stone balcony.

She shivered as the winter air brushed her skin once more. As she leaned over the balcony’s railing, Dorothea glanced up, staring at the dozens of twinkling stars dotting the inky night sky, the moon shining bright above her.

Footsteps came from behind her and before long, Petra was draped over the edge of the balcony as well, arms folded as she stared into the distant sky. Dorothea could see the way that Petra’s eyes shone faintly, feeling a small smile tug at her lips as she watched Petra’s finger tap the cold stone bricks of the balcony in a mindless rhythm.

And then Petra was glancing over to look at her, with a gentle smile on her face, making her look absolutely _ radiant _ in the pale moonlight.

Dorothea stared, mouth agape, eyes wide.

Before she knew it, Petra was staring back out into the distance and speaking to her. “Are you not feeling the chillness of the air? I had a thought that you could feel warmer inside the room.”

Dorothea snapped back to reality, fumbling before the words came to her. “The view out here is worth it,” she breathed, breath turning into a white fog that drifted and faded into the air. “I think I can handle the cold—at least, for a little bit.”

“If you are saying as such, then I will be believing it.”

They stood in silence, twin figures leaning over the edge of the stone balcony, staring at the beautiful scenery spread out in front of them. Dorothea’s eyes caught sight of small ant-sized figures walking about below, pairs of students running back and forth across the monastery, walking to and from the Goddess Tower. She even swore she caught sight of Felix slipping into a shadowy corner, followed by none other than _ Sylvain_.

Petra’s voice floated through the air, causing Dorothea to tilt her head at her. “I must be thanking you, Dorothea. Your lessons and your patience were helping me, and the ball was a success.”

Beautiful, gorgeous, radiant Petra. Illuminated under the moonlight and the twinkle of the stars.

“So I take it that the dancing lessons helped?” she replied, slowly, hoping that Petra wouldn’t notice the faint quiver in her voice.

Petra nodded, purple locks of hair swaying as she dipped her head. “Yes. And… you were correct.”

Dorothea blinked.

“Come again?”

“When I was learning the dance during your teaching last week. You had been saying to me that the dancing was not in date. And I believe… that you were correct. Many students were not dancing in the style that I asked to be learning from you.”

“Most people usually just dance a little bit of it, before giving up and dancing however they want to,” Dorothea commented, thinking back to the ball earlier. The only time that the dance in all its entirety had been performed during the ball was at the very beginning. She had seen Edie step into the middle of the room to dance with several other students.

Most of the remaining students had simply watched them waltz across the floor before the orchestra switched to a different tune. When the starting melody of a faster song rang out, she had watched—and joined in, even!—as a crowd of students raced across the marble floors, breaking out into a chaotic mess of dancing.

“...Did you ever get a chance to use what I taught?”

“In truth… yes, at one moment. There had been one slowing song, and I had been dancing with Ferdinand.”

“Of course,” Dorothea muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes. If Petra noticed her remark, she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she continued on.

“But for most of the dancing, I simply… danced.”

Dorothea tilted her head, brown curls tumbling over her shoulders as she gave Petra a curious glance. “Oh?”

“It was not the formal dancing that I had been learning from you… but rather one that I was taught in Brigid.”

Instantly, Dorothea’s thoughts flashed back to a few weeks prior, when Bernadetta had been chosen for the White Heron Cup by their dear professor. The poor, purple-haired girl was terrified, not knowing how to dance at all, lacking in swordplay, and struggling to muster up the courage to exit her room.

She remembered walking across the dormitory corridors, footsteps slowing as she caught sight of Petra instructing Bernadetta inside her room. She watched as Petra’s hands gently guided Bernadetta into position, moving her arms and feet in a unique style that Dorothea had never seen before.

It had taken Dorothea all her willpower to drag her eyes away from the scene as Petra demonstrated for Bernadetta, her heeled boots _ click-clacking _across the frost-covered pathway as she diverted away from her warm dormitory room, heading for the training grounds instead.

The words tumbled out of her mouth as she stared at Petra in the moonlight, still lost in memory.

“Could you dance for me?”

Silence. Petra stared at her, mouth agape, purple eyes questioning.

And then the reality of just _ what _ she said sunk in. Dorothea stammered—she actually _ stammered, _ something she rarely ever did, priding herself on her composure—and ducked her head, wrenching her eyes away from Petra’s burning gaze. Heat burst into her cheeks as she struggled to wrench a coherent sentence—or _ any _sentence at all!—together.

“I-I mean! You don’t have to do it if you’re uncomfortable.” The words tumbled out of her glossy lips like an uncontrollable pile of vomit. A vile description, _ sure _ , but that was what it felt like to Dorothea, to blurt out more and more words because for _ once, _ she managed to lose her cool. “I was just curious—especially since I didn’t see you earlier! But it’s cold out and you must be tired from all the dancing earlier, and _ maybe _you’re not comfortable doing it now-”

“Dorothea?”

Petra’s voice, soft and calm, uttering her name. Her lips clamped shut.

Swallowing nervously, Dorothea dragged her gaze away from the _ very _interesting grey bricks that made up the railing of the balcony, shifting over to look at Petra. She bit her lips. “...Yes?”

Petra smiled, a genuine, _ beaming _ smile that sent Dorothea’s heart fluttering. “I would be loving to show you my dancing.”

She took a step back from the balcony, pausing only to tug Dorothea’s coat off her shoulders and return it to her. As Dorothea pulled it on, turning to lean her back against the balcony, facing Petra, she watched as the purple-haired girl stepped into a pose.

Unlike the stiff, one-step-two-step rhythm of the ballroom dancing that Dorothea spent days teaching Petra, the dancing that Petra twirled into was a silky, smooth rhythm, without any sort of pattern at all. Gone were the stiff movements of her attempts to learn how to dance Fodlan-style. In its place was a hypnotic, rhythmic dance that Dorothea couldn’t tear her gaze away from.

Petra’s arms curled and waved around her as she twirled, feet stepping around the stone floor in no particular order. Her hips shook—subtly, gently, swaying from side-to-side with each lithe step her sandalled feet took.

As her arms rose and fell, fingers clicking together, the _ snap _a loud, sharp noise that cracked through the air, Petra hummed a small, faint melody, eyes squeezed shut as she lost herself in an invisible rhythm that only she could hear.

Dorothea’s foot began to tap against the floor, staring transfixed, as Petra continued to sweep across the balcony. Her dancing was fluid, smooth and swift. The way that her arms swept upwards, hands flaring out, fingers shimmying in the cold, winter air, reminded Dorothea of her time on the battlefield. It reminded her of Petra’s arms raised high up in the air, fingers clenched tightly around the grip of her steel lance, before crashing down in a wide, sweeping arc, and smashing her enemy into the ground.

The way that her feet step-step-twirled across the balcony’s floor, dancing, occasionally stepping into a tip-toe that raised her higher, was reminiscent of the way she danced across the muddy battlefield, jumping back gracefully before swiftly swinging forward to strike her blade across the armored chest of her opponent.

Even the way that she just moved in general was as swift as the way she guided her pegasus across the skies. Pulling the reins back before swooping in, doing a loop through the air before careening down to down her foes with a swift smack of her lance.

And then Petra raised her hand, stretching it out towards Dorothea. Mindlessly, wordlessly, without thinking or saying _ anything, _Dorothea took it, allowing Petra to pull her into the warm embrace of her dance under the cold night’s sky.

Petra’s hips jutted out, cocking from side-to-side, as Dorothea’s feet began to take dainty little steps around her. Dorothea shut her eyes, feeling the way her brown curls whipped around herself as she spun and spun and stepped and _ dance, _hearing Petra’s lilting laugh sweep around her like an orchestra of her own.

She reached out and grabbed Petra’s arms, twirling the other girl round and round in a circle, feeling her lips break into a wide, toothy grin. Opening her eyes, she stared at Petra, carving every inch of the other girl’s blissful happiness into the depths of her memory, chest throbbing and burning with heat and love and _ desire. _

Slowing to a stop, Dorothea paused, hesitated, before wrapping her arms around Petra’s waist. Chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath, she stood there, watching as Petra’s hands curled around her back.

“I love you,” she blurted out, between her gasps for breath, watching the way Petra froze as she spoke. Dorothea shut her eyes. “I…”

_ I understand if you don’t feel the same. _

_ I’m sorry if this is too forward. _

_ I- _

She felt a warmth against her cheek. Slowly, nervously, Dorothea cracked open her eyes, lashes fluttering as she took in the sight of Petra’s soft smile, her purple eyes glinting with happiness, one hand raised, brushing against Dorothea’s face.

“I… love you as well,” Petra whispered, voice soft, fingers gently cupping her cheek as she tilted her head, rising on the tip of her toes and moving closer-

And then Petra kissed her.

Dorothea felt her heart beat faster and_ faster _ as their lips brushed together, tasting the faintest trace of cinnamon from the balm Petra used. Petra’s lips were rough and dry, chapped by the icy cold of the Ethereal Moon, and yet-

The kiss was soft, _ so _ soft, delicate and warm. As they pulled away, slowly, as if they didn’t want to break apart, Petra’s lowered her arm, curling her hand around Dorothea’s back instead of cupping her cheek.

She stared at Petra, basking in the sight of her beautiful lilac eyes, at the purple markings around her gaze, at the purple locks of hair tumbling around her, hair curling around her shoulders. Dorothea exhaled shakily, unable to stop the shaky, genuine little smile that rested on her face as she took in the sight of _ Petra, _who looked at her with loving eyes.

With a small, melodious laugh, Dorothea pressed their lips together once more.

And so they embraced, gently kissing under the cold moonlight of the Ethereal Moon.

**Author's Note:**

> why don't the students get cool ball clothes during the ball in fe3h? i know, probably because of... 24 different students, and unique clothes and sprites for all of them, but i'd love to have imagined everyone wearing pretty, fancy clothing
> 
> also! the ethereal moon is the 12th month, meaning it's winter, meaning garreg mach is definitely very cold.
> 
> thank you for reading this fic! if you liked it, please leave a comment and a kudos! those really help encourage me to write more, and i definitely want to write more fe3h fics! (i've got a whole list of stuff to write)
> 
> twitter: [serosephim](https://twitter.com/serosephim)


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